


October Flowers

by EmeraldEyes8917



Category: Sherlock (TV), Spooks | MI-5
Genre: British Government, Code Words, Crossover, Gen, MI5 - Freeform, When a tiny Hugh Laurie role gives you so much inspiration, british secret service, secret agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldEyes8917/pseuds/EmeraldEyes8917
Summary: Following the incident at Appledore where a Chalres Augustus Magnussen met his end, Mycroft's professional sacrifices and pending disgrace in protecting Sherlock, on a cold day in October, Anthea meets with a man who held more secrets than anyone else, who was the man in the shadows of MI6 and has the warning to impart to Anthea about the true price of loyalty.
Relationships: Anthea & Mycroft Holmes
Kudos: 4





	October Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover fun, yes!
> 
> Before we jump into the story, I have based the character whom Anthea meets largely on Jools Siviter from Season 1 of 'Spooks', mainly because he is the sort of arrogant and righteous head of the secret service that Mycroft and Anthea may deal with daily. Also, Hugh Laurie plays him so well and dripping with posh menace so I'm forever inspired. So I do not claim any copyright over that character, and I have only taken parts of his personality and the nature of his profession to create this character.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy. Concrit always very welcome.

The mind makes unconscious decisions at times. Whether it is contributing to present actions or guiding the thread of existence, one can never be too certain.  
  
This afternoon, there are several strands of choice affecting her current position. Choosing this bench. Wearing gloves. Taking coffee instead of tea. The caffeine as well as the heat in the liquid always had the effect of warming her up internally where there was a hole that needed to be filled.  
  
Choosing not to look to her right even as footsteps approach. Breathing in and out slowly by degrees.

This rendezvous was not a chance encounter. Nothing was ever left to chance in her world.  
  
A man wearing a tailored jacket and polished black shoes lightly sits himself down beside her, looking for all intents and purposes a stranger lost.

"I'm looking for October flowers."  
  
Anthea does not even incline her head in acknowledgement of the question, "Snowdrops bloom well in November."

There is a note of contempt in her voice.  
  
A low, humourless chuckle in response, "Ah, ah. Let's try to be civil on such a fine afternoon."  
  
"The best weather that London has to offer. Cold, damp. How fitting."  
  
Anthea finally turns to meet the steely, unblinking eyes of Jonathan Smyth. Once upon a time, she may have been quite shaken by this formidable authority, who took no prisoners (at least not in the metaphorical sense), but today, the summons had been more irritating than intimidating.  
  
"Timing is everything, Miss Anthea. I choose my moments with care."  
  
She neither agrees nor disagrees, "Flowers. A lovely choice. You heads of security and your codes. It's enough to speak plainly these days without believing that others are listening and deciphering every word."  
  
"One can never be too careful, as you well know."  
  
She takes a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, the steam curling almost tantalisingly.  
  
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Smyth?"  
  
"How do you mean?" He appears genuinely baffled, but she was not going to be taken for a ride today, or pushed about like a novice. It was a past-time of heads of MI6, and MI5 to be brutally honest, to test out subordinates to see how they would genuinely react. She often surmised they had an internal points system if they made an intern cry.  
  
"A man of your prowess and such high standing in the secret service hardly strolls by the Thames of an afternoon, let alone chooses to pop himself down next to a woman. Also... your plain-clothes are doing such a stellar job of blending in that they are in fact standing out."  
  
She would have almost waved to the two men a few feet away, one talking into his phone in a baseball cap, the other stretching his calves in the midst of an afternoon run. If they even realised for one moment that their cover was blown, they did not express any emotion.  
  
His expression does not change, apart from the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Your arrogance is not becoming to a young lady."

It is the barest hint of a reprimand, with an undercurrent of sexism which never failed to make her blood boil, and she parries back without hesitation, "Your tendency to underestimate your sister service is not so becoming to you either, sir."  
  
Now that hit the target. His smile becomes more forced, and she, in turn, becomes more nonchalant, or to the eyes of the casual observer, quite bored.  
  
"Your perception is frighteningly sharp for a person of your standing."  
  
"I will take that as a compliment, Jonathan."

Now she switches to a familiar syntax without missing a beat, "But please feel free to let me know the purpose of this chat before this drink becomes tepid."  
  
His non-verbal reply is to pull out a packet of cigarettes and tap out two in a gesture so suave that it was almost rehearsed, though she did not highlight that immediately. He offers her one, an eyebrow raised a fraction and she takes it, even though she is not a smoker. Or at the very least, a social one.   
  
The flame of the lighter dances and wavers as he cups it with his hand, a silent invitation, and even as she leans closer to light the end, the scent of his aftershave is overpowering and it is the combination of the two scents that make her eyes water.

Yet she remains composed as she inhales.

He follows suit, and the curls of smoke dissipate immediately into the cold air.  
  
He smoothly launches into his opening gambit, "You know as well as anyone that every department needs a firm hand to guide it through turbulent times. Currents can become strong, tides can turn without a moment's notice."  
  
She is almost prepared to request a sparing of nautical metaphors, but he soon changes tack, "I will speak plainly, for sake of clarity. There is a change coming for all of us. We all bear witness to regimes and governments that shift and fall every day. Who is to say where we will all be in a year. Hale and hearty?"

His laugh is cynical now.  
  
"I would like to believe that we would be. But then again, positivity is a flaw of mine."

Her voice sounds weary, but the truth she holds to is unwavering.  
  
"My dear, you are an idealist. You see the world as what it could be and not as it actually is. You embrace the wide potential of human beings to change and to become more than petty, greedy, hateful creatures."  
  
Anthea blows out more smoke, quite slowly though it burned her throat.  
  
"Yet at times, under great strain, pressure and strife, you and Mycroft Holmes resemble each other more and more. It can be quite disconcerting."  
  
Anthea's smile is feline, "I take that as the highest compliment, sir."  
  
"Yes, you may. But I will tell you now that should any issues ever arise as to familial ties or sentimental bonds... there should be serious repercussions."  
  
Her expression remains willfully placid, "If you are by any chance referring to Appledore and Mr Magnussen, then I suggest you leave that door closed. The matter has been dealt with accordingly satisfactorily by Lady Smallwood, so I suggest you take it up with her directly rather than badgering aides on an afternoon off."  
  
Mr Smyth senses the change in her from politeness to defensiveness, and akin to a shark smelling blood, he advances.  
  
"You would be wise to remember that such errors of judgement can cost many people dearly. Not only time, resources, and budgets. It was enough to have the younger Holmes sent away, and not to have a disciplinary hearing where his reputation would be in ruins."  
  
"This has not occurred, nor will it occur, so please come to the point." The impatience was beginning to present itself, much to her internal chagrin.  
  
"Mycroft listens to you, so I wish for you to pass on this piece of advice. 'Be wary and be vigilant, for change comes to us all'."  
  
"Wouldn't it be much more succinct coming from you directly?" Or as she would have preferred to have put it, 'I am not a messenger, you pompous, insufferable...'  
  
"You know how much he detests me. I imagine he relishes the thought of my being dismissed from my position. He does love to be dramatic."

An echo of a phrase that Mycroft himself employed when referring to his younger brother, but she does not acknowledge it as he continues, "In any case, better to hear it from someone whom he trusts implicitly. You are far, far more convincing."  
  
The tactic of compliments is not lost on her, though she would have gladly succumbed many years ago, "My wiles are not as sharp as you would believe. Mr Holmes follows his own path, his own prerogatives, and his personal code of conduct. No one could easily persuade him to alter same or to take the easy route, so please excuse me if I do not contemplate such a conversation with him."  
  
He effectively extinguishes his cigarette, as if punctuating a sentence, "It may occur sooner than you think, my dear."  
  
The placating tone riles her, "Do not test the bounds of my loyalty, Mr Smyth. Those who have done so often find themselves on the losing side. I know what you are doing here. This is some pathetic, covert attempt to undermine Mr Holmes' authority, and going behind his back to one of those in his employ and under his command is quite frankly deplorable and a disgrace to the service, and I will not stand for it. So you may take your advice and deposit it in a place where the sun never shines its light."  
  
Her vision is too sharp, too bright, and her ears are ringing. She was losing control, but luckily, it was to deliver her point effectively rather than let herself down.  
  
His eyes meet hers, all traces of politeness and foray have vanished, "You will soon see things my way. That change will affect you as well. He depends on you, as you do on him. Assets, liabilities, it all works together, and it can all crumble. So please take my advice: play nice."  
  
Anthea holds onto the cigarette but disposes of her cup in the dustbin to her left in a dismissive fashion, "I'd rather not since you refuse to do that yourself. It is very boring. Good day, Mr Smyth."  
  
She stands and walks away without once looking back, though she could feel his eyes boring into her back and his final words carry on the wind, "You are making a grave mistake, Anthea. You may mark my words and live by them."  
  
She was quite certain that repercussions would trickle down to her in a matter of days. She could handle the administrative hell, the bureaucratic nightmare, the personal vendetta, but back-stabbing would never be a sword she would wield on this battlefield. Years ago, she would have run to Mycroft in floods of tears and would warn him in hysterics, but now she knew it was a matter to bide her time. He would soon know of her meeting with Smyth, of what was said, and how she had subtly defended him. Then she could feel proud.  
  
What she knew from all she had ever accomplished was this: words are rarely mere words, and threats are never compromised in this world of the secret service.

Today she had remained a true ally to Mycroft Holmes and to Sherlock Holmes, albeit obliquely, despite the high price. She would gladly do it again in a heartbeat.


End file.
